


potato, pot-eh-to

by cleardishwashers



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Wedding Planning, Weddings, bitty and jack are very in love, uhh just trust me theyre mostly all in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24547732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleardishwashers/pseuds/cleardishwashers
Summary: the story of before, during, and after the bittle-zimmermann wedding!
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 24
Kudos: 146
Collections: OMGCP Reverse Bang 2020





	potato, pot-eh-to

**Author's Note:**

> this was for the omgcp reverse bang, and it was such a blast! hope yall enjoy!

_PROVIDENCE, RHODE ISLAND_

In a small former church in a small city in a small state, there is a wedding taking place. The venue has been chosen for a variety of factors: convenience, privacy, and lack of overt religious connotation (coupled with the stained-glass windows that both grooms absolutely adore). It is a good choice, and everyone there knows it. If the building was sentient, it would feel very smug.

…

“Lord, I wish we didn’t have to drive an hour out of the city every time we want to look at a venue,” Bitty said mournfully as he merged into the exit lane. “So much gas.”

“Says the man who insists on taking the long way home whenever we go to Georgia,” Jack teased.

“What can I say, Mr. Zimmermann? I just miss open fields,” Bitty said, smiling. “And at least in Georgia we don’t have as many people who think they’re _too good for the rules of the highway,”_ Bitty said, raising his voice pointedly as a car going 90 miles per hour whizzed past them.

“At least we’re not in Massachusetts,” Jack said.

“At least we’re not in Massachusetts,” Bitty agreed, steering them onto the ramp. “I’m dreading the day we have to drive up three times in a week to plan Shitty and Lardo’s wedding.”

“Well, you never know,” Jack said. “They might just do a courthouse wedding.”

“We’d still be goin’ up three times in a week,” Bitty said. “You think the amount of jam we’re giving them’ll fit in one car?”

“I don’t anymore,” Jack said. “Will they be able to eat that much jam?”

“I know it’s become a raffle item at Ransom and Holster’s office.”

Jack smiled. “Someone’s popular.”

“I know. I can’t even FaceTime Mama anymore, there’s so much of Aunt Judy’s jam in the kitchen.”

“Will you have to plead for… _jam-nesty_ from her?” Jack asked, his grin growing wider.

Bitty blinked. “Mr. Zimmermann, I will turn this car around,” he said, stifling his snort.

“I dunno, I thought that pun was pretty _jam-azing,”_ Jack said, the smirk evident in his voice.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

“You think I’m cute?” Jack said, still grinning.

Bitty smiled, turning his head for a quick look at his fiance. “The cutest.”

“Aw.”

“Never say I’m stingy with my compliments, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty told him, turning into the building’s parking lot.

“Oh, I would _never.”_

“Good. Let’s get to tourin’, honey!”

They clambered out of the car and walked up to the front door. “Stained glass,” Jack noted, tilting his head up to admire it. “That’ll be nice for photos.”

“And it’s a good ways away from everything,” Bitty said. “So points for privacy, and it’s not _too_ far.”

Jack looked at him. “I think we’ve found it.”

“Well, let’s take a look inside first,” Bitty teased, “but you know what? I have a good feeling about it.”

…

It is a relatively extraordinary wedding, especially compared to the type that the church usually sees. The guests, for one, are highly unusual. An eclectic blend of hockey players, heavily-accented Georgians, and quasi-corporate types who will end up imbibing more liquor than the other groups combined— they mix together as they slowly trickle in, and with news of each new person’s arrival, both Bitty and Jack, sequestered away in separate dressing rooms, grin even wider.

…

“I am going to be on Hollywood’s shit list for at _least_ six months,” Jack muttered, poring over Alicia’s _Guests for Consideration: Maman’s Friends and Acquaintances_ list. (Don’t even get him started on the _Papa’s Friends and Acquaintances_ one. He was pretty sure he would never get Canucks tickets again.) “I don’t even remember half of the people she’s put here.”

“Did you see what your mom said at the end of the email?” Bitty asked.

Jack scrolled down through the (seemingly endless) lines of names, and at the bottom was an added note that said _“Feel free to leave most of these people off— I know you want a small wedding. Love, Maman.”_ He breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to face Bitty. “Thank God.”

Bitty laughed. “Don’t say that just yet, my mama has it in her head that this venue’ll be able to fit my entire extended family.”

 _“Crisse,”_ Jack replied, grinning anyway.

“This’ll be a real hoot, at least.” Bitty looked down at his own list and sighed. “I told her that we were keeping it _small,_ and she’s sent a list of the entire population of Georgia.”

“Plus one cousin at Brown,” Jack said, his smile widening.

“Oh, hush! Y’know, without that excuse, I wouldn’t’ve been able to come see you, _Mr. Zimmermann.”_

“It’ll be _Mr. Zimmermann-Bittle_ in a few weeks. And you know I’m eternally grateful to May,” Jack said. “But I’m sure you would’ve come up with some other excuse. You’re pretty crafty when you get down to it, bud.”

“Oh, I know I am,” Bitty said. Jack watched as he read another line of the list and frowned. “But not nearly crafty enough to get away with not inviting my Aunt Judy’s ex-brother-in-law. Get your big behind over here and help me tell my mother not to go _completely_ out of her skull.”

“And what makes you think I could do that?” Jack asked, walking from his seat at the breakfast bar to where Bitty was standing at the counter.

“Well, you got me to write my thesis, so obviously you know _something_ about negotiating with the Bittles.”

“I only got you to draft it.”

“Potato potahto.”

“Don’t say that, or Tater will call and ask if we want that Russian chef with the beet soup again.”

Bitty visibly shuddered. “Cons of not deciding on a caterer. But let’s get through these lists first, and then we can worry about that.”

Jack looked down at his fiance and smiled, realizing how little his anxiety had bothered him about this. “Anyone ever tell you that you should be a professional wedding planner?”

“Sweetheart, I’d procrastinate the everliving shit out of that too. The only thing keeping me from putting this away and baking twelve pies is because I want to give us a good wedding.”

Jack snorted. “Maybe I should’ve told you that we’d only get married if you wrote your thesis.”

Bitty laughed, his nose and eyes crinkling up, sending a surge of affection through Jack’s chest. “I wouldn’t’ve stopped till I was done, then. Too little, too late, Mr. Zimmermann,” he teased.

“Well, you managed it in the end,” Jack said. “And have I told you how proud of you I am for that?”

“I think you could tell me one more time. Really drive the point home.”

“Eric Bittle, I am so extraordinarily proud.”

“You are just too much.” Bitty smiled. “I’m real glad I’m marrying you, Jack.”

“Me too.” Jack holds up his laptop. “But we won’t be able to get married if we don’t finalize this guest list soon, so…”

Bitty groaned and let himself fall back into Jack’s chest. “Well, we’d best get crackin’ then.”

…

The ceremony itself sticks to the bare bones of the Zimmermanns’ wedding tradition— the parents of each groom lead their sons to the front (Tater, who officiates, sounds even more Russian when he gets choked up) with some of the Bittles’ influence in the selection of the Old Testament passage to be read. And by the end of the vows, many an eye is wet.

…

“Lardo,” Bitty said. “I have no idea what to write for my vows.”

Lardo shrugged. “Dude. I wouldn’t know either.”

“You’re my best man! You’re supposed to help with this!” Bitty exclaimed. “I can’t just go up there, _vow-less!”_

“Bits! You’re not gonna go _vow-less_ or whatever. I’m gonna pull up a wedding website—”

“But that’s not _personal_ enough,” Bitty groaned. “Jack’s so… _heartfelt,_ and _sincere,_ and he’ll go up there with some beautiful vows and I’ll have just copy-pasted from goddamned AnaDogLover47’s help thread!”

Lardo placed her hand on Bitty’s shoulder. “Bitty. Bits. Bittle. Hey. Calm down. First of all, Jack may be heartfelt, but he’s a dingdong when it comes to expressing feelings. I bet he’s pacing a hole in my floor right now. And I also bet Shitty’s offering him weed to calm him down. And I bet it’s the good shit— _man,_ I wish we’d chosen Boston instead of fuckin’ Providence as our command center. No offence, Bitty.”

“None taken, but how is this helping me write my vows?”

“Shit! Okay, so. What do you like about Jack?”

“A lot of stuff.”

Lardo stared at him. “No shit, that’s why you’re marrying him. Pick three traits.”

“Uh. He’s kind. He’s funny, in a Canadian way. And I said he’s heartfelt and sincere already, so… that’s four.”

“You’re already ahead of the curve. Now. What is your favorite thing Jack has done for you in the past six months?”

“Hmm… oh! He went through my blog and found the recipe for the pancakes I said I really liked, and he woke up at 4:30 on his day off to make ‘em for me. Lord, that boy is _too_ sweet.” Bitty smiled, recalling the ferocious concentration that’d been displayed on Jack’s face as he’d carried the pancakes into their bedroom, balanced precariously on a tray laden with coffee and syrup and fresh strawberries. “That’s one. And then there was this one day where I was trying this recipe a million different ways and it never turned out right, and I was about to start tearing my hair out, and then he made me sit down and watch a movie while he cleaned up the whole kitchen so I could start over the next morning.” Lord, he really had taste, didn’t he? “Oh, and the fact that he proposed not three hours after I graduated— I’d thought he’d meant _after graduation_ as in maybe when I’d moved in or something, but _Lord,_ he really got right after it. That’s another thing I like about him— he’s just so _dedicated,_ you know? And—”

Lardo raised her hand. “Bits, you two are really sweet, but if we’re gonna have this speech written before the Legally Blonde marathon starts, we’re gonna need to hurry it up, so pick your anecdote.”

“You’re right. Uh, I think I’ll use the proposal one?” Lardo nodded sagely at him, and he continued. “Okay. So, review the proposal, and then discuss why I love him, and then say I’m excited to be married to him.”

Lardo gave him a stinging high-five. “Fuck _yeah,_ Bits! Make these vows your _bitch.”_

“Yes, ma’am!” Bitty grabbed his laptop off the side table. “Okay, gimme a few minutes to get this down.”

Twenty minutes later, Bitty looked up from the screen. “Done.”

“Hit me.”

“Okay. So. ‘Jack, when you and I first started talking about our future, we agreed that we’d wait ‘till after I graduated to get married— so you proposed to me on the exact same day I got handed my diploma, and you did it with just about the sweetest speech I’ve ever heard. I love that so much about you— you put all your heart into everything you do, and you’ve got the most heart of anyone I know. You’ve gone through so much, yet you are still gentle, and considerate, and honest and funny and good-natured, and I could spend hours describing everything I love about you but I still wouldn’t be able to list it all. You are an extraordinary man, and I can’t believe I get to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you, and I will continue to love you ‘till the earth stops spinning.’” Bitty took a breath. “How’s that?”

Lardo swiped at her eyes. “Bitty, if I’m crying in your wedding photos, I’ll never forgive you.”

“So… good?”

 _“Fantastic,_ dude.” Lardo threw a pillow at him. “Now let’s call Boston and get Legally Blonde going, because if I shed even one more tear I’m suing.”

Boston was… a mess, to say the least.

A pile of sticky notes rested on the floor. At least seventy-seven pens, seventy-two of which were of the glitter gel variety, were distributed across various surfaces in the room. Copious amounts of brownie crumbs— _weed_ brownie crumbs, previously unbeknownst to their consumer— were scattered everywhere. And last but not least, a very stoned Shitty was bawling into the couch. “Jackabelle, you’re getting _married,”_ he sobbed.

“Shitty, the wedding’s in two months. I think you’ll be fine.” Jack silently thanked his lucky stars that he’d passed on the brownies until he got his vows written. “Where the hell did Ransom and Holster even _get_ these? How can that much weed be present in that few brownies?”

Shitty’s sobs came to a hiccuping stop. “I was smoking earlier,” he said, sniffling. “A lot.”

“Jesus, Shits,” Jack said fondly. “Okay, well, I think I have the sticky notes in order, so… do you want to hear it?”

“I’ll definitely start crying again, but fuck yeah,” Shitty said.

 _“Crisse,_ your eyes are red. Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Hell _yeah!”_ It came out as more of a sob. Jack decided that maybe it was best to just start. He picked up the pile of paper and began reading.

“‘Bits, when I first met you, I didn’t know what to make of you. Here was this tiny baker who brought a pie to a kegster, who couldn’t take a check without fainting, who could skate faster, _better,_ than anyone on the team. And you grew, and you changed, and you made _me_ do the same. And for that, I am incredibly grateful. You showed me that there were other ways to experience college— to experience _life._ Being with you, being near you, even just being on the same line as you, it’s all made me learn so much. You inspire me, every day. You always have. I can’t wait for the rest of our lives together. I—’” Shitty let out a wail, and Jack grinned— “‘love you.’”

“Fuck you, Jack,” Shitty cried. “You’re gonna make me cry at the wedding, and then Tater’ll make fun of me.”

The front door of Haus 2.0 burst open. “Did someone mention Tater?” Ransom exclaimed.

Holster shoved him lightly, scowling. “This is Legally Blonde time, not Legally Russian, you fuck!”

Jack’s smile grew wider as his phone buzzed. He swiped to accept the call, and Lardo and Bitty’s faces filled the screen. “Hi, honey!” Bitty said. “Oh no, did you do something to Shitty?”

“He’s stoned out of his mind,” Jack said. “Hi, Bits. Hi, Lardo.” He set the phone on its side, so everyone was being shown. “You guys ready to watch?”

“Did you eat our brownies?” Ransom asked.

“Not cool, man!” Holster yelled.

“I’m _sorryyy,”_ Shitty sobbed. “I thought they were from Bitty!”

“Aw, Shits,” Lardo teased affectionately. “Okay, movie time!”

As they all scrambled to set up Netflix, warmth spread through Jack’s chest. This was his family, too.

…

Jack and Bitty walk out of the church to their car— the reception is in a hall about five minutes away— to the sounds of cheering. “I saw Lardo shed a tear,” Jack says, grinning. “Impressive.”

“Hush, it was your vows that did it,” Bitty replies, smiling just as wide. “Honey, we’re _married.”_

“We really are, eh?” Jack says. They sit in giddy silence for a moment, admiring the glint of the sun on their rings. “Love you, Bits.”

“Love you too, sweetpea.”

…

Bitty looked down at the list of potential wedding rings and groaned again. “It’s just some gold! How many designs can there _be?!”_

Jack smiled, walking over. “Bits, it’ll be— _Crisse,_ how many are on here?”

“A hundred and six,” Bitty groaned. “A hundred and six of the same exact goddamn bands, with the teeniest of tiniest of differences.”

“It’s an ounce of metal,” Jack said, frowning as he sat down. “How many variations can they _do?”_

“Lord, I wish we could just, like, commission Lardo for this,” Bitty muttered.

Jack looked at him for a second, realization dawning on his face. “Wait. Why can’t we? She does sculpture work, right? And rings are sort of sculptures? Kind of?”

Bitty paused. “I suppose we _can.”_ He grinned, pulling out his phone. “Honey, that’s a great idea!”

“You sound surprised,” Jack said, feigning hurt. “Have you no faith?”

“Honey, I always have faith in you,” Bitty replied, pulling Jack to him for a quick peck. “But it diminishes every time you mix up sugar and salt in your coffee.”

“The containers look exactly the same!” Jack protested.

Lardo picked up the phone, cutting their conversation short. “Yo, Bits. What’s up?”

“Can we commission you?”

“Depends on what you’re commissioning me for.”

Jack frowned. “You literally painted a giant blue dick, like, a month ago.”

“Yeah, that’s tame compared to some shit I’ve gotten asked about.”

“What— you know what? I don’t want to know,” Bitty declared. “We want you to design our wedding bands.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Lardo?” Jack asked. “You—”

“Shut _up,_ Zimmermann,” Lardo said, sounding a little choked up. “Of course I’ll do it. Fuck you.”

“I’m gonna guess that’s a good fuck you?” Bitty hedged.

“It was, and now I’m gonna mess up my eyeliner.”

“Lardo, you’re the best artist we know. And you’re one of our closest friends. Why wouldn’t we ask you to design our rings?” Jack said, a grin on his face.

“I know what you’re doing, and it’s not gonna work!” Lardo exclaimed, sniffling. “You can’t trick me into crying.”

“What you do on your own time is none of our business,” Bitty said, fighting back his own smile. “But Jack’s right, you’ve got so much talent, and we’d be honored to wear your design for the rest of our lives.”

“Rot in hell!” Lardo exclaimed wetly. “And don’t even consider paying for this.”

She hung up, and Jack shrugged. “I know her prices, I’ll just get her a bunch of supplies worth that much.”

“Jack Zimmermann, you are _devious,”_ Bitty said, grinning. “I like it.”

After a design that was just one long penis engraving around the whole ring, Lardo sent them the final design— a 3D render of a brushed gold ring, incised so that one side of the surface was covered in hexagonal patterns, the other in waves, and the space in between in a beautiful merge of the two. “Holy shit,” Bitty said, zooming in on the details. “Sweetpea, we’re gonna be walking around just… _wearing_ art. For the rest of our lives.”

“I’ll be married to a work of art for the rest of my life, so it’s only fitting,” Jack replied, dropping a kiss to Bitty’s cheek as he sat down with his tea.

“You charmer,” Bitty said. “Lord, if we didn’t have to send the design to a jeweler and wait for them to carve it or whatever, I’d be marrying you right now.”

“Just a month more,” Jack said. “And then we’ll be _husbands,_ bud. Fuckin’ A.”

Bitty laughed. “You really are a hockey player, eh?”

“And you really are becoming a Canadian.”

“I’m assimilating.”

“Potato, pot- _eh_ -to.”

“You are _incorrigible,_ Mr. Zimmermann.”

…

The car stops in front of the reception hall, and Bitty looks back at Jack and grins. “After you, Mr. Zimmermann-Bittle.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Bittle-Zimmermann,” Jack replies. “It’s a handful, eh?”

“I’ll never get tired of saying it,” Bitty vows, stepping out of the car and offering Jack his hand. They thank the driver, and the car drives off. Bitty reaches up to fix Jack's (hockey-themed, of course) tie. “You ready, sweetpea?”

“If you’re next to me? I’m ready for anything,” Jack says.

 _“Lord Almighty,_ you are just too much.”

…

Jack had been thinking about the name situation for a while now. They were both sitting on the couch, just leaning into each other, not talking— this was the perfect time to bring it up. “Bits,” Jack said, apprehension starting to gnaw at his stomach. “Uh, can I talk to you for a second?”

Bitty looked up from his phone, eyes wide. “Of course, hon, what is it?”

“Uh. I’ve been thinking— I kind of want to keep my last name— well, technically hyphenate? I know we haven’t talked about it much, and it’s kind of— I dunno, I didn’t really know if you wanted me to take your name, or the other way around, or, like— well. Yeah. I was thinking about hyphenating.” Bitty nodded encouragingly, warmth in his eyes, and Jack continued, bolstered. “Uh, when I was a kid, I wanted to, like, rid myself of the Zimmermann name, y’know? Because it brought me so much stress, and all the pressure, and— but if I hadn’t had the name, I wouldn’t’ve ended up meeting you. And I like it when you call me Mr. Zimmermann, and I feel like I kind of, like— grew into it? You know?” Bitty nodded again. “And then it has _all_ of my family heritage, not just my dad’s legacy— and I want to keep that. But I also want to, y’know, have a— not _tangible,_ per se, but in that vein— reminder that I’m yours. So hyphenating. And probably just going with Zimmermann on my jersey, because Zimmermann-Bittle would be really long.” He let out a breath. “So what do you think?”

Bitty grinned. “Of course, sweetpea, that sounds great! Y’know, I was actually also thinking of hyphenating? Just because— well, I want to keep my family history, but I wanna be more solidly bound to you, and I’ve gone by my last name for the past four years.”

Jack exhaled heavily again and smiled. “Great minds think alike, eh?”

“But fools rarely differ,” Bitty finished, smirking. “Don’t forget that part, mister.”

“Well, I’m a _fool_ for you,” Jack said, smile growing wider.

Bitty groaned, still grinning. “Good _Lord,_ Mr. Zimmermann. Or, should I say… Mr. Zimmermann-Bittle?”

“You _should,_ Mr. Bittle-Zimmermann.” Jack placed a soft kiss on Bitty’s lips. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetpea, and I’m glad we sorted this out. Now, I need your expert Canadian opinion on this sugar tart recipe here, that okay?”

“Always.”

…

The wedding photographer is fantastic at her job, and as a result, the grooms now have a giant portrait to hang over the fireplace.

On one side, crammed into the frame, are six professional hockey players and their manager. On the other, there are eight current and former Samwell Men’s Hockey players and _their_ manager. _(“I’m not technically your manager anymore,” Lardo said. Ransom and Holster shook their heads and lifted her onto their shoulders. “Nah, bro,” Holster said. “Managing is forever.)_ Sandwiched in the middle are Jack and Bitty, blissfully unaware that in seven seconds they’re going to be hoisted into the air by all their teammates; everyone is laughing at Shitty, whose exuberant champagne-flute-raising had ended up with his Moet slipping out of the glass. The photo was taken just as the liquid hit the top of its arc, the droplets suspended in the air forever by the miracle of film, creating a golden halo over Jack and Bitty’s heads (that would thankfully splash onto the ground behind them instead of onto their suits).

“Opinions, Mr. Professional Photographer?” Bitty asks, tracing the string lights in the photo with one finger.

“It’s pronounced Mr. Zimmermann-Bittle, actually,” Jack replies, grinning. “And I love it. I love _you.”_

 _“Excuse_ you, I am a _married man!”_ Bitty exclaims. “I’ll be telling my husband about this, just you wait. He’s a professional athlete. He’ll beat you right up,” Bitty says, poking Jack’s chest with each of the last four words.

“I bet I could take ‘im,” Jack says. “He sounds like a shrimp.”

“Fighting him for my hand? Very romantic,” Bitty says. “But, y’know, he has to go to practice, and it’s his first day back, so he should really be on time…”

“Bittle, you’re gonna lecture _me_ on time management?” Jack chirps.

Bitty turns up his nose. “Why yes, I am, and _you,_ mister, are going to be late.”

Jack grins wider. “Worth it.”

“You are just _too_ sweet. Now go get changed.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack says, saluting.

“Love you, honey.”

“Love you too, Bits.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if you liked it, feel free to leave a kudos/comment, and drop me a line at flybittybooty on tumblr!


End file.
